


there's so many ways to give in

by chikoo



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not really character death?, Reincarnation, Rituals, Sea God, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Worship, a whole lotta tropes in one small fic, this is sad and horny, very on brand for me, yes this is that kind of fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chikoo/pseuds/chikoo
Summary: “I-I need to go. I’m, I don’t know how long I’ve been here,” mutters Yeosang, staring at the way the man tilts his head, hair flopping. Like this, the man looks normal, like any student Yeosang would come across, devastatingly handsome. Then the man smiles and no, nope, there’s just something off about him.or,Yeosang meets a strange man in a cave and is haunted by dreams that seem achingly familiar.
Relationships: Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong
Comments: 46
Kudos: 212





	there's so many ways to give in

**Author's Note:**

> oh gosh okay!!!  
> first things first: i tagged this major character death because even though this is a reincarnation au, the character death still takes place within the fic but it is not graphic at all and very abstract.  
> secondly, this fic was a doozy to write omg honestly a rollercoaster ride.  
> big thanks to vilde and jaskier for beta reading!! 
> 
> in any case, i hope you enjoy!

It’s beginning to dawn on Yeosang that he probably should not have been quite so brave. 

He couldn’t help it, though; a taunting little smirk from Wooyoung, San jeering in the background,  _ dude Yeosang would never _ and Yeosang had let his pride burn through him, tongue searing around a harsh, “I’ll fucking do it.”

And here he is, skin tinged blue, the cold seeping in bone-deep, sharp swipes of the wind smelling pungent, chilling his lungs. It had taken quite a while to climb down the rocks, his friends refusing to even come close to the edge, watching with fear as Yeosang zipped up his windbreaker and began climbing down. Wooyoung was definitely regretting goading Yeosang into it, eyes wide with concern as he watched the wind flatten Yeosang’s hair, the sound of the water growing steadily louder. 

Yeosang couldn’t blame him. They shouldn’t have even entertained the thought. But it was the beginning of their last year in this tiny university town and a few cans of beer and a bottle of wine later they were drunk and dumb enough to start talking about it, talking about how one of them should go see it, just once, just once before they have to leave, join the real world. 

They’ve been hearing stories about it for as long as they can remember, being warned by upperclassmen, by professors to  _ please avoid that section of the beach, it is highly dangerous. _ The sharp rocks, the little cove constantly flooded by large swells of water, it was perilous to be there. Too many announcements of bodies washing up on the other side of the shore, limbs strewn across the rocks, drunk uni students, just like them, making fatal decisions. 

But the other stories, the ones whispered at Halloween events, ones printed in obscure books in the local bookstore, they were just as memorable. Stories of a curse, of something lingering in the water with a taste for human flesh. Yeosang doesn’t believe in things like that, never has. But there was something about hearing people talk about it, talk about how long ago the locals used to make sacrifices to appease whatever dwells there, of how bodies were found even when the sea was calm, of an eerie feeling you get when standing close to those rocks, a powerful urge to jump into the unforgiving water. 

Yeosang hadn’t really felt anything when he stood at the edge, staring down at the frothy white waves, too focused on the cold, on just getting it done with, the proximity of the sea making him stone-cold sober. He found himself at the bottom before he knew it, the water lapping languidly at the shore, six feet away from him. Yeosang feels a whoosh of air hit his back as the wind lifts a shrill sound ringing in his ears and he whips around to see the yawning black mouth of a cave. 

He stares at it, perplexed. No one had mentioned there being a cave down here. 

“YEOSANG ARE YOU DEAD? OH MY GOD, SAN, HE’S DEAD.”

Wooyoung’s high-pitched shriek reverberates into the cave. Yeosang rips his eyes away from it, trying to shake off the feeling that the darkness inside almost looks like it’s moving. He tuts and yells, voice hoarse from the cold, “I’m here, dumbasses. There’s nothing at all, here. Just a small cave.”

“What? No one said anything about a cave,” San says and Yeosang can almost imagine him pouting, confused. Then he chortles and says, “Yeosang go inside the cave! Actually wait, maybe don’t. Oh my god, this is so scary.”

Yeosang rolls his eyes and takes out his phone, turning on its flashlight. He steps closer to the cave slowly, tilting the light up to see if there are any loose rocks ready to fall. The cave was probably flooded with water for most of the year, hiding its presence. The walls inside still look a little slippery, slick as if the water had only just receded. Yeosang walks hesitantly, standing at the entrance, peering into the darkness to try and see the back. The blackness is so heavy, it feels all-consuming. All Yeosang can see is the rocky ground, mindful of washed-up jagged stones and broken shells. 

The more Yeosang walks, the more his stomach clenches with fear, the more the shadows in the corners of his eyes dance and dart. Before he knows it, the entrance to the cave is quite a bit away from him. Yeosang looks back at the light of the moon, the way it illuminates the little strip of water he can see. He’s not sure but the water looks quite a bit closer to the mouth of the cave than it had been before. Sudden anxiety fills him, his brain conjuring up images of him being trapped in this nondescript cave, his body only found days later. He closes his eyes, taking deep, shaky breaths and tries to calm down. 

When he opens them again, it’s as if the cave is just a little brighter, the moon a little lower. Yeosang can see the end of it, he’s so close. What makes him lose his breath isn’t the way the moonlight falls on the stone walls, making them almost glow a soft silver, or the odd silence that enshrouds him, the way he can’t even seem to hear the frothing of the ocean. 

What makes him stop breathing is the massive painting on the back wall and a stone ledge that almost looks like an altar in front of it. The art is strange, it looks like a figure, human on top but the bottom half looks like something else, something large and bulbous. The figure is brandishing something in its hand. It’s painted in muted colours of green and blue, so stark and real as if the sea had bled into the walls. The only thing that looks clear as day is the figure’s eyes, staring straight at Yeosang as if enraged by his presence. Yeosang looks away quickly, gaze falling on the ledge underneath the painting. There’s a small, brass bell sitting on it, shining under the light of Yeosang’s phone. 

Yeosang’s standing a hair’s breadth away from the painting before he even realises it. Up close, the painting looks like it's fading into the walls, the colours seeping into Yeosang’s fingers when he brushes a hand against it, gritty when he rubs the tips of his fingers together. But the figure’s eyes still hold, the colours dark and stormy. Yeosang feels like he’s looking at something he shouldn’t be. A sudden peal rings in the air and Yeosang starts, pushing back so suddenly he trips over nothing and falls, hands smacking heavily onto the ground. The bell lies on its side- Yeosang must have hit it with his foot causing it to fall over. Yeosang sits on his haunches, wiping his hands on his jeans and reaches out for the tiny thing. 

It’s rusty and feels heavier than it looks in his hands. He turns it over and sees something engraved inside. Strange symbols, perhaps a language, one Yeosang doesn’t recognise at all. He jiggles the bell again, the strange soft peal resounding in the air. Something about the sound settles Yeosang’s nerves. He finds himself doing it again and again, letting the sound wash over him as water would, gentle and caressing. Absently, he’s reminded of how he used to lie down on the beaches back home as a child, running away from the crowded parts to the quiet ones without any tourists or large families on vacation. How he would let the water tickle his feet, lazy and calming, spending what felt like hours there, until his mother would drag him away, admonishing him for running off on his own. But Yeosang had never felt any safer, anymore at home, than he had near the sea. 

“You can put that down now. You’re making such a racket.”

Yeosang shrieks and whips around, the back of his head hitting the wall. He scrunches his eyes up in pain, bringing a palm up to cup his head, rubbing at it slowly. Through blurry vision, he sees a man standing at the mouth of the cave, water lapping at his feet. 

The man walks closer and a swell of fear overcomes Yeosang. He’s all alone in a strange cave with a strange man as the tide continues to rise. The man must see the terror in Yeosang’s eyes because he puts both hands up in a placating gesture and walks slower. Yeosang brings his knees up close to his chest, body shaking tremulously as the man kneels down, only a few inches away from Yeosang. This close, Yeosang can see him clearly, see the dark hair, the simple shirt and jeans, as if it isn’t freezing cold. The man has dark, swirling tattoos running down his arms, disappearing into the neck of his shirt, crawling up all the way to his face. Symbols, images, Yeosang has never seen before. His eyes bore into Yeosang’s, calm but there’s something unnerving about them. As if he sees far more than he should. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching a hand out towards Yeosang, who recoils, heart thudding. “I promise, nothing will happen to you.” The man continues, still looking at Yeosang in that eerily unmoving way. But there’s something about him that feels like a balm, soothing and comforting, something in the line of his arms, in the soft smile on his face that makes Yeosang feel a little like giving in the longer he looks at him. Yeosang shuffles towards the man on his knees, letting him cradle the back of his head and pull him in. 

Yeosang’s almost draped over the man’s lap, as he guides Yeosang’s head sideways, his other hand settling on Yeosang’s vibrating knee. The man hums, massaging Yeosang’s head, eyes furrowed. He has a little tattoo between his eyebrows, it looks a little bit like a crescent moon and Yeosang fixates on it. He doesn’t realise that his head has stopped hurting until the man catches his eyes and smiles.

“You shouldn’t have come here. Haven’t they told you that it’s dangerous?”

And the man sounds concerned, almost chastising. But his gaze makes Yeosang’s hair stand on end; he looks assessing, like something coiling in wait. Yeosang remembers the deaths, the bodies found floating around in the water. He knows he should feel scared but it feels as if he’s not experiencing the fear himself, as if he’s merely a spectator to it. His brain feels mushy, and the longer he stares at the man, the dizzier he feels, his thigh hot where the man’s palm rests. 

He’s mumbling something, falling deeper and deeper, watching in muted horror as the man smiles and his mouth looks funny, like it’s too big, his teeth just a little too sharp, when his phone starts ringing, loud and piercing. Yeosang seems to wake up then, scrambling away from the man, shaking hand fumbling at his phone. The man sits on his haunches, hands on his knees and just watches Yeosang. 

“Yeosang, holy shit what the fuck? Where the fuck are you, this isn’t funny. It’s been almost an hour, we’ve called you at least a hundred times.” 

San sounds like he’s crying, voice breaking and sniffling. An  _ hour _ ? It doesn’t even feel like ten minutes have gone by. He apologises, hushed, voice sounding like he’s underwater and hangs up. The man still sits there. It doesn’t look like he’s moved even a little. 

“I-I need to go. I’m, I don’t know how long I’ve been here,” mutters Yeosang, staring at the way the man tilts his head, hair flopping. Like this, the man looks normal, like any student Yeosang would come across,  _ devastatingly _ handsome. Then the man smiles and no, nope, there’s just something  _ off _ about him. He stands up and Yeosang belatedly realises the man is barefoot.

He holds a hand out and Yeosang takes it gingerly, pulling him up to stand. He isn’t any taller than him but Yeosang still feels tiny in his presence. The man reaches out to flick the hair out of Yeosang’s eyes and he flinches a little. The man giggles, sounding mischievous and playful and Yeosang’s stomach swoops. 

“You can go, little one,” the man says, eyes happy and dancing. His fingers fall down Yeosang’s arm, warm, lighting the skin up. “I’ll see you very soon.”

Yeosang doesn’t know how he gets out, just remembers the man holding onto Yeosang’s wrist and whispering, “  _ Don’t make me wait too long, Yeosang _ ,” before Yeosang is standing outside, the water almost up to his shin, the wind stronger and icier. He looks back to the cave and finds it empty and void, the blackness eating up everything, no man in sight. He chokes down a scream and scrambles towards the rocks, slowly carefully climbing up, until San and Wooyoung appear and pull him up frantically. 

They’re crying and yelling, hugging Yeosang so tight he can’t breathe but all Yeosang can think of is how his wrist hurts where the man had touched it and when he looks at it, he sees something almost burnt into his skin- something that looks like a crescent moon. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


San and Wooyoung don’t believe him. They don’t believe him because  _ Yeosang you have a massive bump on the back of your head, you may have passed out for a bit, you were gone for so long  _ and  _ We didn’t see anyone anywhere, where would the man have come from  _ and  _ You need to see a doctor right now.  _ He lashes out at them and cries, begging them to understand, to see the eerie mark on his wrist but when they look at him and frown, glancing at each other dubiously, Yeosang knows they can’t see anything. To them, his wrist is bare. 

They go to the emergency room and he gets checked out thoroughly, the doctor frowning when Yeosang tells him about his “hallucination”. But when everything comes through clear and he lands up with the diagnosis of a mild concussion, the doctor just shrugs and says, “There’s no major injury as far as we can see. I highly suspect you may have fainted for a bit, which is common. If the hallucinations, pain, nausea, anything of the sort persist, come back and we’ll take a look.”

The lump on his head heals and the mark on his wrist fades. He spends hours rubbing at his wrist frantically, taking pictures of it with his phone but nothing is there except for raw, pink skin. Yeosang spends days in his room, hoping that by sleeping so much, he might finally wake up and forget.

He doesn’t realise that an entire week has gone by until San and Jongho almost break down his door, and try their best to drag him out. He goes, weak to San’s wide, guilty eyes, and Mingi’s confused tears, realises that he probably looks close to death but he can’t feel anything much. He replies to all the emails from his professors robotically, spewing out excuses of illnesses, half-assed apologies. He’s not sure it isn’t the truth though. He feels gravely ill, feverish and unseeing. Attends lectures and classes but doesn’t look anyone in the eye and comes straight home. He’s terrified he might recognise their gaze, might see a lopsided, shark-wide smile, a tattooed neck. 

Because that’s all he sees in his sleep. Sees the man so clearly, in different clothes, in different times but it’s still him. He still has the same smile. Yeosang knows he should probably get help, but something in him, maybe the same pride that made him go down to the cove in the first place, refuses to admit defeat. He knows he’s not  _ insane.  _ He knows what he saw. And he can’t explain what he’s seeing now, can’t even begin to understand it but he can’t shake off the feeling that he’s not dreaming about something abstract and imaginary. He’s dreaming of  _ memories.  _

But his dreams torment him, dreams of the sea, of men and women and children being torn apart by it, gory images of death and destruction, of people struggling to come ashore, of vessels breaking apart in the middle of the sea. But sometimes, it seems like he’s dreaming up entire lives he’s never lived. Bits and jagged pieces, jumbled up scenes, snippets of an imaginary life. Those haunt him so much more than the violent ones because they remain with him, the feeling of something slimy and thick around his neck, of soft hands, cupping his face, of something, something  _ inhuman _ standing over him, bearing down on him until he wakes up, sweating and flushed. 

Something about the realisation calms him. The uncertainty paving way for determination. He knows now that what he encountered wasn’t normal, wasn’t  _ human.  _ He’s determined to find out exactly what it was, and what it did to him. 

He tries to behave as normally as he can around his friends, knows that they still worry, Wooyoung coming over to his flat almost every day with flimsy excuses, “ _ I just made some extra pasta, here! Let’s watch a movie together.”  _ He appreciates it, so much more than he lets on. But when he’s alone, he searches frantically for any kind of explanation for what happened to him. 

He spends hours googling things about magic, about myths and monsters but all he comes up with are vague websites, and more often than not, erotica about vampires. He visits the library more than he ever has in his entire academic career, checking out strange, obscure books on local mythology and witchcraft. This island is old, so old some of the books in the library have been around for hundreds of years, they’re bound to have some sort of information. 

He finds nothing, nothing beyond the fact that people on the island used to worship pagan deities, more gruesome facts about the human sacrifices made, the bloody history of the beach. There’s absolutely nothing about a cave, nothing about the altar he had seen, the strange bell. 

The dreams get more vivid. Now, Yeosang is sure he’s seeing someone’s memories, _or_ his imagination is just incredibly powerful. The dreams are far more intimate now. Before, he’d wake up with gory images of death and blood flashing behind his eyes. Now, more often than not, he dreams of secret touches, of kisses pressed to his lips, of strange, startlingly familiar eyes staring at him with reverence, the feeling of something wet and sticky between his legs, something that feels an awful lot like a _tentacle._ He wakes up sweating, underwear soiled with his own come, panting into a phantom mouth. 

It affects him far too much during the day. The image of a slippery tentacle sliding down his chest rises unbidden when he’s in class, the ghostly feeling of strong hands gripping into his thighs when he’s at Yunho’s, playing games with the gang. It leaves him breathless because the sensations are so strong, so real, he finds himself half-hard almost the whole day, escaping into the bathroom every so often to calm himself down. He feels like he’s spending his days in a fever-dream, dazed and constantly battling the pitted heat in his stomach. He finds himself ashamed of the images in his head, how  _ filthy  _ they are. 

He distracts himself with work because everything else just seems futile. He’s losing his goddamn mind and he has to submit an essay for his history class in a week. Surprisingly, it’s through research for his essay that he finds the first helpful thing. 

He’s sitting on his desk, cups of ramen strewn around the room, trying to focus on the screen of his laptop and not the image of a too-wide smile in his head. He’s sifting through old newspaper articles, local pieces from two centuries ago, when the island had first been colonised, reports of new buildings that had been funded, built on the grounds of sacred land. That’s when he sees it and his blood frosts over. 

It’s a scan of a small report about the funding of the local museum. Some local benefactor had personally funded the preservation of ancient artefacts, important to the locals, paid for everything with his own money, and left nothing except his surname, “Mr. Kim.” There’s a picture attached, a group of men standing outside the museum, and the man is among them, the man Yeosang had encountered in the cave, he’s standing  _ right there.  _ He looks different, wearing period attire, dark hair slicked back, no sign of the tattoos Yeosang had seen. But there’s no mistaking his eyes, the strange, familiar, almost unhinged smile on his face. 

Yeosang doesn’t know how long he sits there at his desk, staring into the man’s pixelated eyes. His phone beeps with the message tone and he jumps, body shaking tremulously. A notification pops up on his screen.

**mingupingu** : yeooo, there’s a party happening at woojin’s on friday

**mingupingu** : let’s gooo

He stares at the words without really seeing them. It’s odd. Not even two weeks ago, this was Yeosang’s life, frequenting parties, sleeping till noon and bullshitting his essays. He doesn’t know why it feels like it was lifetimes ago. 

He sends an affirmative to Mingi distractedly and turns back to the article, saving the scan on his laptop and sending it to his phone. His body vibrates with the need to tell someone and his thumb hovers over Mingi’s name, tempted to send him the report, show him and show San, Wooyoung, Jongho,  _ all  _ of them, that he’s not crazy, that there’s proof. But the longer he stares at the man, ‘Mr. Kim’, the more he thinks of the point to it all. What next? He’s certain that this Mr. Kim is far from human, is  _ something  _ that’s been around for a while. But what does that mean for Yeosang? 

His mind flashes back to what the man had said.  _ I’ll see you very soon.  _ A violent shiver goes down Yeosang’s spine. With distant horror, he wonders why the words don’t scare him as much as they should.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


_ The island is raging; wind slashing at his face, palm trees swaying back and forth violently. The sky is a tumultuous swirl of darkening grey, the moon painting everything in a hazy, silver light. Yeosang stares at the temple in the distance, blurred slightly by the weather, the familiar, safe walls that he’s always called home. A particularly cold surge of wind whips by and Yeosang shivers, pulling at his flimsy robes until they’re bunched up around him.  _

_ He rolls his shoulders back, fidgeting with the charm around his neck and starts walking. He’s almost there. _

_ He thinks of how not even a week ago, he’d sneaked out with Wooyoung on a stormy night just like this, eager to go down to the beach, see if the sea had washed up anything exciting.  _

_ “Goddess, what if we find a dragon spirit? That’s happened before, right? Yunho said three years ago, they found an injured spirit hiding in the cove and it blessed the High Priestess!”  _

_ He remembers Wooyoung’s excited chatter, both of them itching to see if the rumours about the Blue Moon were true, if magical spirits really do leave the sea on a night like this. He remembers going down to the beach, to the infamous cove and finding nothing more than mischievous sprites. He thought he’d seen something in the water, something large moving underneath but Wooyoung had pulled him away, already complaining, vowing to yell at Yunho for feeding him tall-tales.  _

_ Not even a day later, the mark had appeared on him.  _

_ He’d known exactly what it was, they’d all been taught, told that one of them would have to make the ultimate sacrifice one day, just as the sea intended. He thought he’d be ready for it; after all, this is what they have been told all their lives. But when the priestesses had begun the rituals, his fellow disciples, his friends preparing Yeosang’s body and soul for the sea, barely hiding their sorrow, the claws of desperation had sunk in him. He didn’t realise just how much he wanted to live.  _

_ He’d seen the aftermath, of course. The ritual happens every year, and every year Yeosang had accompanied the priestesses with cleaning and burying the bodies. Or what remained of them.  _

_ Now, he’s almost at the mouth of the cave, he can see the altar lit up with candles, in preparation. He kneels down in front of it, blows the candles out and lays down on the cold, hard ledge to wait.  _

_ He doesn’t know how long he waits, lying there and listening to the harsh roiling of the sea, the gigantic sounds the waves make as they hit the shore. Absently, he notes that the water inside the cave is almost up to the ledge, just a little more and it would submerge him completely. Still, he waits, waits until his body seems to melt into the water, until there’s nothing in his mind except for the wrath of the sea.  _

_ The last thing Yeosang sees before his vision fades is stormy eyes that seem to hold the entire sea in them, something wet and sticky wrapping itself around his arms, his waist and he realises, letting the strange thing lift him up, for the first time he feels no fear at all.  _

For the first time in weeks, Yeosang wakes up in peace. The dream had been the clearest, most vivid one he’s had yet. It had been the same island, the same cave, that much he’s certain of. But it had been completely different at the same time. Where Yeosang is used to seeing rows of houses and student buildings, there had been nothing but greenery, open land and small huts. He thinks of the temple he had seen and tries to recall if there’s anything like that on the island. He still can’t shake off the feeling that whatever he had seen had been much more than a dream. 

He spends the week scouring the internet, the local archives for any other mention of the mysterious Mr.Kim, anything about pagan temples on the island. He just finds a few articles here and there, regarding the man’s funding in various places on the island. There was absolutely no record of him being a resident here, nothing except for the vague news articles. It frustrates Yeosang to no end. 

He had found something about the temple though. A journal in the archives detailing how all the old temples on the island had been demolished, churches built over them, or other public buildings. There’s a grainy photograph of the temple, and Yeosang immediately recognises the slanting roofs. But it looks a lot different than it had in his dream, bigger as if more buildings had been built around it, walls flaking visibly even through the grainy picture. As if the one Yeosang saw in his dream was in another time altogether. There’s nothing else however and Yeosang can’t understand why there are almost no surviving records of the island’s history, why it feels like the past has been forcibly erased. 

Time passes by awfully quick for Yeosang. Before he knows it, it’s Friday and his friends are showing up at his doorstep, attempting to pull him out of the house for a party he’d completely forgotten about. 

He knows he probably looks like he’s on something, knows there’s a permanent glazed look in his eyes, knows Yunho stares at him with wide eyes, Wooyoung throws clothes at him to put on, looking back at Yeosang every now and then like he’s trying to make sure Yeosang hasn’t disappeared yet. He doesn’t know what to tell them. Doesn’t know how to say that his mind feels like fluff, floating in the strange, liminal space of his dreams. That he’s so out of it, sometimes it feels like there’s someone with him, touching him and whispering, someone with dark hair and swirling tattoos. He doesn’t know how to say that some part of him revels in the feeling, the haze, the phantom sensation of someone else’s hands on him. 

He dresses rigidly, trying to get a hold of himself and when he walks out, his friends whoop and whistle. 

“Yeosang, you’re definitely going to get laid looking like that.” They laugh and jitter, and Yeosang sinks into the familiarity with belated ease. 

Wooyoung drags him to his room and starts putting on some makeup for him, brushing glitter onto his eyelids, highlight on his cheekbones. Wooyoung’s hands shake just the slightest bit. 

“Hey, are- is everything okay? Like, I know you’ve been going for classes, you’ve hung out with us so much and you’re okay physically. But if-if there’s anything you want to talk about, I promise I’ll listen, Yeo, you know I will.”

Wooyoung stares at him so sincerely, Yeosang has the overwhelming urge to just hurl everything out, tell Wooyoung everything, no matter how crazy it sounds. He’s almost about to, eyes tearing up when Mingi walks in the room and yells at them to hurry up. They jolt and the moment breaks. He just nods at Wooyoung absently and gives him what he hopes is a convincing smile. 

Before they leave, Yeosang downs a can of beer and tries his best to forget everything for a while. 

The party’s at Mingi’s friend’s house, already crowded and full of drunk uni students stumbling around, drinks spilt all over the floor. Yeosang isn’t sure if the small amount of alcohol in his stomach is helping or making the strange feeling that’s been sitting in him since the night at the cave even stronger.

He drinks more alcohol, taking large gulps of vodka and trying to ignore the way his stomach burns. He watches as the people around him get together, grinding low and dirty. Watches San and Wooyoung practically entangled together, and some unspoken part of him yearns so fervently for a pair of arms around him, for someone to touch him. 

The haze grows heavier, feeding on the alcohol in his body until his vision is blurred and everything feels like it’s underwater. He walks around aimlessly, bumping around the living room, into people equally as drunk as him. He’s searching for something and he doesn’t know what, but he misses it so very much, misses it with every fibre of his being. 

Belatedly, he realises there are tears streaming down his cheeks, and the ball in his stomach tightens. He feels like he’s lost something, the weight of grief settling in him like it’s familiar. But he doesn’t recognise it, can’t place where the emotions come from. All he can feel is the sorrow in his chest, the odd stinging on the skin of his hands, the frantic way his eyes dart around the room, searching,  _ searching for him, because he’s always there, he always finds Yeosang. He’ll find him again.  _

He’s shaking, trembling, surrounded by people he doesn’t know, and it all seems too much, he feels like his head is going to explode-

_ “Oh, little one, it’s okay. You’re okay.”  _

Warm hands slide around his waist, settling on his stomach and immediately, Yeosang melts, as if something has slotted into place. For a moment, he loses himself again, leaning back against the warm body pressed to his chest, sighing at the way soft breaths tickle at his ears, lips press into the skin of his neck. Then, he freezes. He doesn’t dare turn around because he knows exactly what he’ll see. The man pressed against him laughs, and it’s dark and dangerous and sinks into Yeosang’s skin. 

“I told you not to make me wait, didn’t I? You’ve always been so obstinate, Yeosang, provoking me needlessly.” The man speaks into the shell of Yeosang’s ear and Yeosang shivers violently. The arms around his waist tighten. 

Yeosang frowns, heart thudding in his chest. 

“ _ What are you talking about _ ? Who-who are you, I’m, I feel like I’m losing my mind?” His voice sounds faint to his own ears, scratchy and rough. The man says nothing at all, humming against Yeosang’s skin. Something about it is vaguely comforting, like a lullaby lilting him off to sleep. Yeosang feels himself sagging, the man’s arms holding him up. There are kisses being pressed under his ear, and he revels in the feeling, pushing his face to the side so the man can leave scorching kisses on his cheeks, just on the bottom of his lips-

Yeosang jerks and suddenly, he realises that the noises of the party had been muted. They come surging back now until Yeosang’s ears start ringing. He spins around, eyesight blurry and comes face to face with the man. He’s staring at Yeosang so intensely, Yeosang feels submerged. Hands shaking, Yeosang brings his palms up to touch the man’s face, just in case this is all in his head again. 

But the skin under his hands is soft, warm to the touch. The more Yeosang stares at him, the more it looks like the tattoos on the man’s skin are  _ moving,  _ swirling and blooming over his skin. The man brings his own fingers up to curl loosely around Yeosang’s wrists, moving one hand up to his face to press a wet kiss on to his palm. 

“You know who I am. You’ve always called me Hongjoong, even if you don’t remember it right now,” the man,  _ Hongjoong _ , murmurs into his palm. 

It doesn’t clarify anything. Yeosang feels even more displaced than before, head spinning. 

“I-What, just please,  _ please. _ ” The plea falls from his lips unsolicited, his voice breaking on the words. 

Hongjoong sighs, letting go of Yeosang and stepping away. Yeosang has to fight with himself to not reach out for him, to not tear up at the sight of him leaving. 

“You know what to do, my love.” 

And Yeosang blinks and Hongjoong is gone, hands grasping at thin air, as if no one had been there at all. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Yeosang has the sudden urge to scream, endlessly, frustration clawing up in his throat. He looks around, at the people mingling about. No one seems to have noticed anything at all. 

He walks to the kitchen mechanically, pouring himself a glass of water and then another until the pit in his stomach is filled with something. 

“Yeosang, hey! We’ve been looking all over for you. This is my friend, Seonghwa, I wanted to introduce him to you.” San’s voice rings out over the din in his head and absently, Yeosang registers San’s tone, recognises it, knows this is San trying to set him up with someone. God, all he wants to do is go home and sleep for a million years. 

He turns around and comes face to face with a beautiful man, perfect teeth set in a perfect smile. On any other day, Seonghwa would have been exactly Yeosang’s type, exactly the kind of guy he’d go for. Right now, the sensation of Hongjoong’s hands seems to be branded into Yeosang’s skin. 

He murmurs a half-assed greeting to Seonghwa and San leaves them alone with a cheery, oblivious, “Okay, bye!” 

Seonghwa keeps staring at him with that charismatic smile and Yeosang feels exhausted, so fatigued he feels like he’s going to fall. 

“So, he finally found you?” Yeosang squints up at Seonghwa. Seonghwa’s not smiling anymore but his eyes bore into Yeosang’s. 

“What? I’m not sure I-”

“The mark on your wrist is quite telling,” Seonghwa says breezily and Yeosang gapes at him. He lifts his hand to his face and there it is, crescent moon dark and embedded, like it had never left. Yeosang stares at Seonghwa in horror, who just laughs. 

“Of course, you remember nothing. He’s so dramatic about it,” Seonghwa mutters, rolling his eyes. Then he looks at Yeosang and his eyes soften. “Come on, I think you need a little fresh air.” 

He follows Seonghwa wordlessly, barely registering his friends waving at him obnoxiously like they think he’s leaving with Seonghwa for another reason altogether. It’s drizzling outside, freezing cold but Yeosang doesn’t feel anything, keeps one hand pressed to the mark on his wrist obsessively, looking down again and again just to see if it’s still there. 

When he bumps into Seonghwa’s back with an “oof!” he realises they’ve stopped. They’ve walked towards the main campus building, standing on the neatly trimmed lawns. The streetlights flicker nervously, and Yeosang looks up at the sky, the swirl of clouds hiding the moon. 

“There’s going to be a storm passing through,” Seonghwa murmurs softly. Then he looks at Yeosang and snorts. 

“How many times have you met him?” Yeosang shakes a little, the cold seeping into him slowly as if he’s only just waking up. 

“Who- I-” Seonghwa gives him an incredulous look.

“T-twice. Seonghwa, w-who is he?  _ What is he? _ ” 

Seonghwa huffs. “You know exactly who he is. And if you don’t, then you will.” 

Yeosang feels anger rise up in him in waves and he wrings his hands in frustration. 

“No, I don’t, stop saying that! I’ve looked everywhere and there’s no mention of him anywhere on this island, nothing except for some dumb news-”

“What, did you think you’d find anything in the fancy library here? The shit they put up on your course reading list?  _ Please _ , Yeosang. There’s nothing left of us on paper, barely anything left of us on land either. You should have spoken to a local, people like me who have lived all their lives here. We are the only ones who remember.”

“Then tell me! What in the actual fuck is happening? God, I’m- I feel like I’m fucking possessed or something, just, tell me what’s going on.” And saying it out loud, finally, is so cathartic Yeosang’s skin fuzzes all over, a strange sensation in the back of his head. 

Seonghwa looks at him with so much pity, brows furrowed. 

“He chose you. He always chooses you. You must honour it, Yeosang.”

He wants to shout, scream and say that he has no idea what Seonghwa means. But a part of him remembers the dream, remembers the altar, remembers the rituals and fear swells within him like a wave. 

“N-no,” he whispers, and Seonghwa smiles at him, sad and gentle. “I can’t, can’t do that.”

Seonghwa just keeps fucking looking at him, that odd, searching expression on his face, as if he’s looking through Yeosang.

“Have faith Yeosang. I- All of us find ourselves here, pulled together whenever he calls, though we don’t always remember,” he says, stepping closer to Yeosang and resting a hand on his shoulder carefully. “I’m glad. I’m glad to see you again, Yeosang. I wonder- I wonder if you remember what this place used to be.” He points at the college building and back at Yeosang, beseeching. 

The softness in his face is overwhelming, the way he looks at Yeosang with familiarity and suddenly Yeosang’s looking at a Seonghwa in the clouded images in his head, hair longer, wearing strange clothes but smiling at Yeosang in that same gentle way. He looks at the building he’s been frequenting for almost three years now, the building all his classes are in and in the dark of night, he thinks he sees familiar slanted roofs, brown walls, large ornate doors,  _ a place he used to call home.  _

Yeosang shakes off Seonghwa’s arm in a flurry and turns and runs. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to get to his apartment building, the rain falling heavier and heavier, drenching his clothes. When he’s inside, he shucks all his clothes off and leaves them at the door, crawling into his bed and covering his face with the duvet, as if that will stop the litany of noises, images inside his head, half-formed and maddening. 

He drifts off and wakes up at some unknown time, rain still splattering on his windows, the sky outside pale and grey. His phone is ringing but he lets it go, burrowing deeper into his pillow. He had dreamt about Hongjoong again, but now the dreams are less hazy and Hongjoong’s face is clearer, the way he touches Yeosang, the strange, slimy limbs wrapping around his body, teasing all over, while Hongjoong watches, completely in control where Yeosang is a mess. 

  
  


He shivers, even though it’s boiling under the covers, and he tells himself he must have developed a fever, from being out in the rain, even though his stomach burns with arousal, his cock leaking onto the sheets. 

He spends hours in bed, mind glazed over, ignoring the pangs of hunger in his stomach until they fade away. His phone rings incessantly, so loud and indignant that Yeosang can’t fully ignore it. He drags himself out and stumbles towards his damp clothes, fishing his phone out. 

There are over twenty missed calls from his friends, urgent messages on their group chat. Yeosang sends a short,  _ I’m alive, just feeling sick  _ to the group and ambles away to find something edible in his fridge. 

The rain is getting louder, the wind making his windows rattle. Yeosang turns the heater up and pops in a microwaveable meal, eating it monotonously until it’s done and he’s just sitting at his desk, staring out of the window, at the little corner of the sea he can see, white and frothy. 

There’s an odd feeling of calm under his skin. A part of him still yells out frantically, raging against everything, convinced that everything Seonghwa had said was all bullshit, that he’s probably being targeting by a cult of some sort, forced to participate in some insane ritual. But he thinks of his dreams, thinks of the images in his head, getting clearer and clearer and so familiar, Yeosang has the sinking feeling that he’s not only witnessing memories, but they’re  _ his own  _ memories. 

He thinks of the way Hongjoong had made him feel, wanted,  _ devoured _ , and he feels flush, body fluttery and light. But he’s still so- so confused, maddened with confusion, has no idea what to do. 

He tries to distract himself by fucking around on his laptop, bundled up under the covers once again, mindlessly scrolling through random websites. He realises with a start that it wasn’t random at all, he’s somehow clicked his way to the same archival website that he’d found all those articles on. He scrolls through everything there, searching for anything with a ‘Hongjoong’ or a ‘Mr.Kim’. He finds the same sources, the same articles, the same black and white photos of Hongjoong’s blurry face. 

He’s almost ready to shut his laptop and try and sleep again when he comes across a photograph he hasn’t seen yet; the source is some local officer’s journal, detailing the events of a gala, a New Year’s celebration. The photo is simple, a group of men posing together, smiling at the camera, dressed in suits and holding flutes of champagne in their hands. Yeosang recognises Hongjoong immediately, hair slicked back, smiling at the camera so wide and happy. He’s holding onto the man’s waist next to him, they’re similar in height and when Yeosang looks at the man’s face he finds his own staring back at him. 

His heart drops to his stomach. He looks at the smudged caption under the photograph:

_ The esteemed Mr. Kim and associates, New Year’s Eve, 1938. _

It’s almost twenty years after the photo he’d found of Hongjoong in front of the museum but Hongjoong doesn’t look like he’s aged a day. The man who looks uncannily like Yeosang appears to be around the same age as Yeosang is now. He can’t stop staring at the man’s face, at the birthmark on the corner of his face, in exactly the same place Yeosang’s is. He glances at the other men in the photo and almost shrieks in shock. They’re his friends.  _ They’re his friends.  _ The familiar faces beam at him, grainy but unmistakable. Even Seonghwa’s there, an arm around Yunho’s shoulder, wearing the same kind of vintage suits the rest of them are. 

Yeosang stares at the way his doppelganger smiles at Hongjoong, something so achingly familiar in his gaze, and he slams his laptop shut, mind reeling. 

_ All of us find ourselves here, pulled together whenever he calls.  _

Yeosang knows he has no relatives on this island. His family comes from the other side of the country, fuck, he’s the only one who’s managed to leave his hometown for higher education. He wants to rationalise with himself, tell himself it’s only someone who looks like him. But suddenly, there’s a roaring in his head, the churning of the sea ringing in his ears, and more than anything, it’s  _ comforting _ , like it’s calling to him.

Outside the clouds sit lower, the sky dark and broiling. 

His phone buzzes in his hand and he picks up the call automatically. Wooyoung’s voice shrieks out of the speaker. 

“Yeosang! Oh my god, I know you’re sick but are you okay? San said you left with Seonghwa, how was  _ that?” _

It takes Yeosang a moment to answer.

“Uhm, fine, we um- we didn’t do anything. I just went home. But he was nice.”

Wooyoung hums, disappointed. “Damn, we were really hoping you would hit it off. But I don’t know, to be honest, I kinda felt like he wasn’t right for you. Like, he’s not the right one.”

Yeosang freezes. “What do you mean by that?”

“N-nothing, I don’t know, it’s been a weird day. And night. I had a really strange dream. Ah, I shouldn’t-”

“No, tell me. What did you dream of?”

“It was weird! My brain is just being meh, don’t worry about it-”

“Wooyoung.  _ Tell  _ me.”

“God okay, okay! It was so strange Yeo. I kinda dreamt that I was dressing you and San and Mingi and everyone else was there as well, and we were like, lighting incense around you and saying something funny and decorating your face and your hair and stuff. It was like some kind of cult ritual, heh. But I just- I remember I felt so  _ sad  _ in the dream, I was crying and I kept looking at you as if I would never see you again. But then all of a sudden, I wasn’t, and we just kept repeating the ritual, again and again, and every time it felt like the first. That’s why- I just wanted to call and talk to you and tell my stupid brain to stop being so weird.” 

Suddenly, it feels like something has unlocked in his chest. The memories rush in, jumbled and marred but real, so real, Yeosang gasps, overwhelmed.

_ He remembers the first time, before all the others, when he’d come here, to the altar, fear clenched around his heart, waiting to be killed by the deity he worshipped.  _

_ He remembers Hongjoong’s curious eyes, the way he’d run his hands down Yeosang’s sides, held him so gently and carefully, Yeosang had cried.  _

_ He remembers being taken, a strange appendage plunging in and out of him ruthlessly, making him blind with want and arousal, sticky fluid everywhere. Hongjoong had watched greedily, drinking in the way Yeosang had squirmed and screamed, and spent himself all over his chest.  _

_ He remembers Hongjoong’s promise, the claim he’d made on him, the hand wrapped around his wrist and he’d let himself sink into the sea willingly, in Hongjoong’s arms. _

“Yeo? You there?” 

“I- Wooyoung, I know what I have to do.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


He’s already out of the house, windbreaker barely pulled on, running through the storm. The ground is slippery and rain pours down on him so hard it hurts but somehow he doesn’t falter. He runs, runs till he’s near the beach, till he can see the familiar rocky outcrop. There’s no one around, no one insane enough to come outside in the middle of a storm like this. 

He doesn’t know how he climbs down. He should have slipped, fallen and hit his head, but it was like something helped him, guided him down, protected him. The cave is right there but the tides are so high, water is lapping at his waist, surging up and hitting his chest with every wave. He doesn’t let it stop him. 

He wades through the water and into the cave. Somehow, it’s brighter here, as if the very walls are shining with some unknown light. He wades in until he reaches the altar, the painting, almost completely submerged by the water. The painting is glowing, and Yeosang looks into the figure’s eyes and lets himself fall because it’s Hongjoong, it’s  _ always  _ Hongjoong. 

He understands now, remembers what it means to be chosen by Hongjoong. 

He drifts there for god knows how long, remembers all the countless times he’s been here, waiting patiently, kneeling at the altar in worship. 

_ Kneeling on the ground and staring up at him, loving hands cupping his face, limbs wrapped around him, the sticky sweet haze of being wanted, worshipped by your god.  _

The water’s up to his chest now and freezing. Yeosang doesn’t even feel it, feels like he’s watching his body from outside it, not aware of anything at all. 

Suddenly, the water stops surging up and down violently and the sounds of the storm outside quieten, hushed, the air vibrating in anticipation. The sea waits with him, keeping Yeosang company. And when he hears a small splash behind him, feels a warm hand come around to cup his cheek, he lets it guide him, turning around to face Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong’s not wearing anything at all, the symbols all over his body on full display, hair slicked back, wet and dripping. There’s a writhing mass of limbs raised in the air behind Hongjoong, as if they plunge out from his body, suckered tentacles shimmering in the dim light of the cave. The sight should frighten Yeosang but it doesn’t. Hongjoong looks like he always has, wild and untameable and dangerous. The embodiment of the sea. 

“Yeosang. My love, my sweet.” Hongjoong says it with so much reverence it makes Yeosang’s chest hurt. He knows the nature of the sea, knows that it takes and takes and takes. But the way Hongjoong coerces him into it, the way he asks, gentle, makes the surrender so much sweeter. A tentacled limb comes forward and wraps itself around Yeosang’s waist, and Yeosang stares at the appendage with no fear, recognising it, remembering it. He’s lifted into the air like he weighs nothing, hands tearing at his clothes until he’s naked and still held aloft, in mid-air. It feels familiar,  _ safe.  _

Hongjoong stares at him, devours his body with his eyes until Yeosang starts squirming. Then he places his hands on Yeosang’s thighs, gripping them so hard, the skin begins to hurt. Yeosang revels in it. He feels something sticky slither up his thighs, resting just under his groin and he groans. This is everything that he’d been dreaming about, everything he saw, in all his memories. Hongjoong claiming him again and again, for all eternity. Hongjoong laughs, loud and resonating in the cave. 

“I’ll never get over this, seeing you like this. Taking you for the first time, over and over again. Do you want me to, Yeosang? Will you give yourself to me?” 

And Yeosang holds Hongjoong’s gaze with ease, trying to pour in everything he feels, over all his lifetimes. 

“Always, I’m always yours.” 

The words are barely out of his mouth when a tentacled limb wraps around his cock, squeezing until Yeosang keens. Hongjoong chuckles, like he finds it all so amusing, and comes closer, sliding his free hands up Yeosang’s chest, brushing against his nipples, flicking at them when Yeosang makes a small, indignant noise. 

Hongjoong looks at him with fondness, and Yeosang arches into his touch, hips writhing as the grip around his cock tightens. A slithery limb touches his lips and Yeosang opens his mouth immediately, letting the thin tentacle push its way in, deeper and deeper, until Yeosang’s forced to swallow the sweet fluid, choking around the smooth limb. 

Hongjoong leans closer, grabbing onto Yeosang’s cheeks and pressing his mouth to Yeosang’s, kissing and licking around the tentacle, messy and wet, pressing a short kiss to Yeosang’s birthmark. 

“Look at you. The way you’d let me do anything to you. I can watch you succumb to your pleasure forever.” 

Yeosang’s legs tremble, calves still submerged in water. Hongjoong takes note and lifts his legs up until they’re dangling over his forearms. The position leaves him so filthily exposed to Hongjoong and he flushes, mewling muffled around the tentacle in his mouth. Hongjoong gives him a smug look, eyes flashing dangerously and when he lifts Yeosang up higher to put his mouth on Yeosang’s hole, Yeosang shakes violently. 

Hongjoong tongues at him, plunging in with no mercy, uncaring of Yeosang’s loud whining. The tentacle around his waist simply tightens every time he keens, the one in his mouth thrusting in deeper until he chokes. The one around his cock flicks at the sensitive head and Yeosang feels like he’s going to explode, so overstimulated all over his body. 

He’s so close, waves of pleasure making his body writhe when Hongjoong pulls away and another tentacle takes his place, pushing into Yeosang’s hole slowly, the viscous fluid making the slide smoother. Before he knows it, the tentacle has slid deep inside, pulling out to thrust in again and again, like he’s being fucked by an actual cock. 

He can feel hands on his nipples, knows Hongjoong is whispering filthy promises at him but he doesn’t register anything, is aware of nothing beyond the white-hot pleasure consuming him, the feeling of being stuffed full everywhere as if Hongjoong is burying himself in Yeosang’s body, till Yeosang can’t think of anything but him. 

Hongjoong takes hold of Yeosang’s wrist, bites gently at his mark, his claim on Yeosang’s body and watches as Yeosang loses himself. 

“Give yourself over, Yeosang, let me take care of you, let me make you mine.”

When Yeosang’s vision whites out, the roar of the sea echoes around them like a promise and Yeosang gives in, body boneless. 

The last thing he remembers before he succumbs to the sea is Hongjoong’s gentle kiss and words that he hopes he’ll remember in his next life. 

_ “I’ll see you again so soon, my love.” _

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed it!
> 
> my twitter is [fightmehyuk](https://twitter.com/fightmehyuk)


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